Stringing my thoughts together may be harder than frozen butter
When it is left out for long
It may just soften
But it may go rotten
too
I'd like to dream again of laying naked
on purpose
By a boy rapped in silk with blond curls
This is about the time of night when things begin to go odd
Like the way it feels after smoking only half a cigarette
I make my self write
So I don't get constipated
It's just like taking a bottle full of laxatives
the way I listen to slow tear strucken music
and wander through my mind at one thirty in the morning
Sitting alone as if I was weeping at the piano's side
These new meds just might work
They keep saying
And I keep listening
For once,
almost hoping that they will
בבלוג זה
בכל הבלוגים
